


Peaches and Plums Never Tasted this Good

by Aziexxx



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: AKA Eliot isn't going to take this lying down, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, And he's getting his man back, Fix-It, M/M, Peaches and Plums, Post-Canon, Post-Canon Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-25
Updated: 2019-04-25
Packaged: 2020-01-31 13:05:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18591832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aziexxx/pseuds/Aziexxx
Summary: “He’s not here, sweetie.”“Well, where is he? There’s… there’s something I want to say to him. No, that I need to say to him,” He smiles up at her, weary but inexplicably happy.“No, El, you don’t understand,” and here the tears started to appear. Slowly at first, like she’d been holding them back for a while, and then all at once falling freely from her eyes. “He- he’s not here. Alice, Penny23 and Q went to go throw the monster and his evil bitch of a sister into the seam. But it all went wrong and- and Q, he…”She hadn’t been able to say it, but somehow Eliot had known what happened. He’d known.He still shook his head in disbelief, tears pooling in his eyes, but he’d known.“No. No, Bambi. He’s not. Please,” But Margo had just gripped his hand tighter, and shook her head.And Eliot crumbled.





	Peaches and Plums Never Tasted this Good

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't handle the finale, so this is my fix it. Takes place after canon, but disregards the permanence of the events that occurred in it, obviously. 
> 
> I just finished writing this in, like, 3 hours so it's not been beta'd and may have mistakes - sorry! 
> 
> Just needed to get this out of me. 
> 
> It's pretty smushy and fluffy and not my usual kind of work tbh, but the s4 finale just really fucked me up.

Cautiously, carefully, Eliot stepped down off of the escalator. The spell Alice had helped him create should mask his presence here, but if there is one thing life has taught him so far, it’s that sometimes magic just likes to fuck them over.

And considering the… _magnitude_ of what he’s doing, Eliot isn’t planning on taking even the most minor of risks. Not with this.

He pushes his unwashed hair out of his eyes, wishing for the nth time that he’d made the effort to bathe or even just _dress_ _properly_ before embarking on this particular adventure– but quite honestly, he really just had not given a shit at the time. He’s had a hard time caring about much of anything for a long time now.

He navigates through multiple bland, white hallways, barely glancing at the variety of doors he passes every dozen feet or so. He knows exactly where he needs to go, and time is of the essence.

When he finally reaches the right door, _his door_ , he almost breaks down completely. He shouldn’t be surprised, he supposes. It makes sense in the most perfect, horrible sort of way. Because this door? Is a perfect replica of the door to their cabin back at the mosaic. Just a stupid wooden door, with hinges that always creak no matter how many times they oiled them.

And it means _everything_ to Eliot.

He takes a deep breath, counts to ten, and pushes it open.

He has to squint past the bright light that immediately assaults his eyes as he steps in, reaching inside his coat pocket for the doorstop he tucked away earlier. He places it carefully under the door, which he leaves just barely open.

When he turns around, he’s surprised to see he’s not actually inside the cabin, or anywhere for that matter. Instead, he’s at the bottom of a hill, at the top of which he can just about make out the bushy green top of a tree. Because of course there is a literal mountain he needs to get over, rather than just the emotional one he’s been slowly crawling up the last few months.

It’s slow-going at first, his long legs only getting him so far when they have to contend with his smoker’s lungs and mostly-empty stomach.

But then he hears it.

At first he thinks he’s hallucinating – and honestly it wouldn’t be the first fucking time – but then there it is again!

That cute little fucking chuckle he never really realised he loved hearing until it became clear he’d never hear it again. And then he’s jogging, basically running up the hill to get to him. The higher up he gets, the more he sees, until finally he can see the back of his head.

 _Quentin_.

He’s not been able to say his name. Not since he found out. But the closer he gets, the clearer he sees _him_ , it’s like a mantra in his mind: _Quentin, Quentin, Quentin, Q!_

It had been Margo who’d given him the news as he lay healing in the infirmary. He’d been groggy at first, and hazy with drugs, but the moment he’d had enough of a clear head he’d asked for Q. He might even have _begged_ for him, he’s not quite sure, just knows he was pathetic and stupidly hopeful and happy, right up until Margo had started to cry.

 

_“He’s not here, sweetie.”_

_“Well, where is he? There’s… there’s something I want to say to him._ No _, that I_ need _to say to him,” He smiles up at her, weary but inexplicably happy._

 _“No, El, you don’t understand,” and here the tears started to appear. Slowly at first, like she’d been holding them back for a while, and then all at once falling freely from her eyes. “He- he’s_ not here _. Alice, Penny23 and Q went to go throw the monster and his evil bitch of a sister into the seam. But it all went wrong and- and Q, he…”_

_She hadn’t been able to say it, but somehow Eliot had known what happened. He’d known._

_He still shook his head in disbelief, tears pooling in his eyes, but he’d known._

_“No. No, Bambi. He’s not._ Please _,” But Margo had just gripped his hand tighter, and shook her head._

_And Eliot crumbled._

He’s almost at the top of the hill when he finally notices Q is not alone. There’s someone with him, laying with their head in his lap.

It makes Eliot stop short, shocked and a little hurt (though he’d never admit it), that there is someone here with Q. This is supposed to be Quentin’s afterlife, his _perfect place_ , so who is this mystery man – and it _is_ a man, the muscular legs tell him that much – that is here with him?

 He’s pulled from his thoughts by Q’s laughter, bright and happy and filling the space around them.

 As he reaches the summit of the hill, walking slowly towards the shaded patch of grass under the tree that Q is in, he finally hears his voice.

 “Oh, shut up! You would not have slept with that goblin, and you know it, no matter the size of his you-know-what!”

 “ _You-know-what_? What are you, twelve?” The man with Quentin replies, the fondness in his voice permeating the air around them almost visibly.

 And that- how is that possible? Because that, Eliot is almost 100 percent sure, is _his voice_ , Eliot’s voice.

 “Thirteen, actually,” Q replies, head bent down close to the other man’s – the other Eliot’s? “Which is besides the point. I saw the way you looked at him- like his bad fashion sense was contagious or something!”

Other Eliot laughs at this, reaching a hand up to push some of Q’s hair behind his ear.

And Eliot knows it shouldn’t make him jealous – especially if the other guy is supposed to be _him –_ but seeing the other man touch Quentin with such obvious adoration is really not  okay.

He marches forward confidently, moving around to face Q, and promptly stops breathing.

Or _starts_ breathing, maybe – he’s not all too clear on that point, just that breathing has suddenly become a very noticeable issue for him, and _God he’s so beautiful_.

Q doesn’t notice him at first, too busy gazing down at Eliot’s doppledick to notice the new presence in his afterlife. Slowly though, as though waking from a dream, Q shakes his head, blinking rapidly, before lifting his head to look up at Eliot.

It’s like he’s looking through him at first, like he doesn’t see him, and that is _so not okay_.

Eliot steps closer, teary-eyed and breathless, and completely unable to look away from Quentin’s face.

“Q? Q, it’s me. Eliot,” Eliot kneels half a foot away from him, glancing down briefly when the other Eliot suddenly vanishes out of existence.

“El?” Q asks, looking down at his empty lap in confusion, before turning back to Eliot. “I- I don’t understand. This hasn’t happened before.”

“What hasn’t happened before?” Eliot asks, so happy to be talking to Q even though he can feel the very important, cannot-be-wasted seconds ticking by.

“This. You moving without me thinking it. I don’t understand.” Q replies, his brows furrowing in such a quintessentially Q way that Eliot actually does chuckle happily at the sight of it.

“That’s because it’s me, Q. Really me. I came for you, to bring you back. But we don’t have much time,” Eliot reaches out his hand, notices Q’s fists are clenched tightly in his lap. “Please, Q, come with me. _Please_.”

“You… this isn’t real. This is all in my head, it’s always in my head,” Q’s clenching his fists so tightly, they’re beginning to whiten at the knuckles. “I don’t believe you. You’re never real.”

“I am real, Q, I’m right here,” Eliot reaches out closer, fingertips almost touching Q’s skin. “Please, _come with me_.”

The moment his fingers touch Q, it’s like fireworks go off behind his eyelids – and not in a romantic, oh-thank-fuck kinda way (though there is that, too). More of a, _shit_ , alarms have definitely been set off kinda way.

Q must sense it too, or sense _something_ , because he looks down at Eliot’s hand like it’s made of literal unicorn glitter.

“El?” His voice is so quiet, so fucking quiet, but Eliot would know that tone of voice anywhere. Q is scared, and hopeful, and scared of being hopeful – like he thinks his mind is gonna plunge him into another depressive episode any second now if he even thinks of being optimistic about this.

Eliot grabs his hand tighter, slots their fingers together, and pulls Q to him.

“It’s me, sweetheart, I’m really here,” He laughs, crying outright, and then promptly topples backwards under the weight of Q who has sprung up and onto him like a very clingy puppy.

They hold each other for seconds, or maybe minutes, neither one really wanting to move until the timer in Eliot’s pocket starts to really hammer at him to get a move on, beeping like an alarm clock on steroids.

“Okay, we gotta move,” Eliot murmurs, moving back to hold Q’s face in his hands, brushing that beautiful curtain of hair back out of his eyes. “We don’t have much time, and Bambi will literally skin me alive if I get myself stuck in here.”

Q looks up at him with an awed, slack-jawed expression Eliot is definitely going to want to revisit in the future – the near, _near_ future – before scrambling to get his feet under him when Eliot pulls him up.

“Okay. Okay, what’s the plan?” He asks, always the control freak, bless him. But Eliot’s not about to bother him with the details, not when they need to get out of here and over to the portal location ASAP.

“Don’t you worry your gorgeous little head about it one bit,” Eliot throws a smile over his shoulder as they run down the hill, nearly tripping in their haste to get down. “I’ve got this. Well, me, Alice and Margo have got this, but seen as though I’m the one actually doing most of the heavy lifting I’m taking full credit.”

They run through the door mere seconds before a loud, blaring alarm starts playing through invisible speakers, Eliot quickly pocketing the doorstop, and then suddenly all of the doors in the hallway are on lockdown. Literally. Giant metal bolts slide across each of them, heavily infused with a kind of magic Eliot is glad he doesn’t have to deal with.

Pulling Q along behind him by his hand, Eliot starts running back the way he came, following the trail of magic that had been left for him.

When they reach the escalator, Eliot knows they’re almost out of time. He can feel it, like some kind of sticky, tacky substance is trying to drag him down with every step, keep him from leaving.

But he didn’t come this far just to give up now. The afterlife could go fuck itself.

He moves to the side of the escalator, pulling out a knife to quickly cut his palm and – after he nods his okay – Q’s too. He mixes their blood together before quickly drawing it on the gleaming metal of the escalator, the design ingrained in his brain after the numerous amounts of time Alice had made him practice it.

Once it’s done, he grips Q in tight against his body, hugging him close, and then slams his hand down onto the markings hard.

At first nothing happens, and for one panicked second Eliot thinks it didn’t work, that they’re _stuck_ here, but then all of a sudden there’s a sensation of being _pulled_. Pulled up, away, _apart_ – the only thing that grounds him is the smell of Quentin’s hair and the feel of his arms wrapped tightly around his hips. There might also be some yells coming towards them from somewhere far away, running footsteps, but between one moment and the next they’re through.

They both gasp, falling to the floor as life floods back into them.

“El… _Eliot_ ,” Q gasps, crawling over to him. “El, is this real?”

Eliot sighs, head thumping back onto the ground beneath him, but summons enough energy to smile up at Q.

“Yeah, Q, it’s real. We’re really he–“ And, yeah, that is kissing. That is definitely kissing that is happening. It takes Eliot’s tired brain a few seconds to process, but as soon as it does he reaches up with both hands, gripping onto Q’s face hard and kissing him back like his life depends on it.

“You… I… Oh my God, Eliot, _El_ , I love you,” Q gasps against his mouth, crying again but then so is Eliot. “I know you don’t, you don’t feel the same but I don’t care, I just need to _say_ it. I _love you_.”

“Q…” Eliot pulls Q’s face back so that he can see his eyes, tilts his chin up when he tries to hide them. “Q, I am an idiot. I get scared and it makes me stupid and _I didn’t mean it_. What I said after the mosaic. i didn't mean any of it."

Brushing away Q’s tears, Eliot finally sits up, pulling Q up with him until he’s basically in his lap.

“I… it’s okay,” Q murmurs, quietly. “Even then, I understood–”

“You understood fuck all,” Eliot interrupts, resting his forehead against Q’s. “I hurt you. I know I did. But I thought I’d have a chance to make it right. Only, you- you went and _died_ on me, Quentin.”

Eliot sighs, shakily, lets all the emotions he’s been bottling up for months, _years_ finally come pouring out. He needs to be _brave_. 

“Of course I love you, Q. Of course I’m _in love_ with you. In any lifetime. Every lifetime,” Q stares at him, mouth slightly open, and it’s so precious Eliot would take a picture of him if he could. Almost as though he can’t help himself, Eliot moves forward to kiss him, kissing him deeply for several moments, now that he’s here and alive and very kissable.

“And I’m sorry it took me getting possessed by a murderous, psychotic child-monster for me to finally be able to say it.”

 “I– I, okay then. I’m glad,” Q smiles, trembling but _alive_ , and _fuck_ Eliot needs to let the others know.

 “Come on, we’d better get a move on. The others will be worried about us and there’s this whole thing with _charms_  we need to sort out, but we’ll work it out.”

“Yeah,” Q murmurs, closing the gap between them quickly to hug him, as though he’s still a little afraid this is all a dream (and boy does Eliot relate to that feeling). “We will”.

  

Later that night, after multiple reunions, and many charms and spells had been literally inked onto Q’s skin (much to Eliot’s delight), they finally had the chance to be alone again.

Time that Q would have been happy to utilise in very fun and sexy ways, had Eliot not fallen fast asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. Which, honestly, was fine by Q. He could spend hours watching El breathe in his sleep, snores occasionally escaping his exhausted body – which, yes, he realises is supremely creepy, but he really _does not give a shit_.

Not after the emotionally charged highs and lows of today, including one memorably awkward conversation with Alice wherein she couldn’t take her eyes off of El’s arms wrapped around his waist and he could barely get the apology out of his mouth fast enough.

And then there had been his conversation with Margo about Eliot.

He’d been a mess, apparently. A non-showering, constantly drinking, depressed _mess_. The only thing that had kept him going was his work with Alice and Margo on getting Q back.

If it hadn’t been so monumentally destructive, Q might have even been impressed at the total 180 El’s personality had taken. Instead, all he can think about is how tired Eliot looks, how haggard, and his heart aches because _this is my fault_.

He traces the lines of Eliot’s face late into the night, breathing in the scent of him – so much richer and earthier than the way the afterlife version of him had smelled, but then that Eliot had just been a figment of Q’s imagination.

Quentin’s not sure when he falls asleep, but when he next becomes aware, it’s to the feeling of fingers running through his hair.

Smiling, he leans into the touch, gradually opening his eyes with a moan when the massaging fingers scratch a spot on his head _just right_.

Eliot chuckles, his face inches away from Q’s.

“Good morning,” Q murmurs, leaning in to peck El’s lips quickly, because he really can’t help himself at this point.

“Morning,” El replies, nuzzling his nose against Q’s. “Hey, did I tell you?”

“What?”

“I love you.”

Q smiles, heart soaring inside his chest so hard he wouldn’t be surprised if it just flew right out of him and landed primly in Eliot’s waiting palms.

“I love you, too.”


End file.
